Life After
by fallingwthstyle
Summary: Kenny has died and visited the afterlife hundreds of times. This time, when Ms. Crabtree wrecks the school bus, he doesn't die alone. Rated for graphic violence, angst, and major character deaths (lots of them). COMPLETE. (Epilogue added for Butters' birthday; can be read as a stand-alone oneshot.)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a bit different than my usual fare, but it's a story that I've wanted to write for a while. It's somewhat AU in that the version of the afterlife Kenny visits here is different than the one in the show and movie; and it's mostly a tragedy, but a small handful of people get sort of a happy ending. There's also a lot of angst, graphic depictions of violence, and major character deaths (****_lots_**** of them). So…trigger warnings?**

**Cover image by Timeless-Knight, used with permission and there's a link to the full size picture on my profile page.**

**Enjoy…**

_We are not human beings having a spiritual experience; we are spiritual beings having a human experience_—Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

.

One moment the South Park High senior class was enjoying an awesome field trip and having the time of their lives, and then on the long bus ride home, Ms. Crabtree turned around to yell at Craig Tucker to _"Sit down and shut up!"_

During the few moments she was distracted, she steered the bus into a curve much too quickly and sent it careening off the interstate and through a steel guardrail with a horrendous crash and into the air above a seventy-foot-high embankment.

There was complete silence once the bus was airborne, falling nose first in a graceful arc toward the bottom of the embankment. Time froze, and Kenny looked toward the front of the bus at the ground below silently rushing up to meet the windshield. His own instincts kicked in immediately. _Relax. This is going to be a bad one, but it's only going to hurt for a second. _

Then he remembered that he wasn't alone this time, and that most of his friends and classmates were on the bus with him.

Someone behind him finally screamed, and that seemed to unleash complete bedlam.

He spared a moment to look across the other side of the bus at Stan and Kyle. They'd had a moment to brace their hands against the back of the seat in front of them and start screaming, but not enough time to even think about reaching out to comfort each other, and in Kenny's last split second of thought and comprehension, he wished that those two could have had another few moments together. Then the bus smashed nose first into the ground seventy feet below the highway. As always during a violent death, Kenny had a second to marvel at how the fucking _sounds_ were always the worst part.

Every seat on the bus ripped loose from the floor and rocketed forward, crushing legs and burying two dozen twelfth graders under hundreds of pounds of wreckage and bodies. Kenny was decapitated as the mass of people and broken seats behind him crushed his body and tore his head from his shoulders and sent it tumbling toward the front of the bus, which miraculously landed upright as its rear tires plummeted to the ground, bouncing once before coming to rest a moment later.

Kenny sat up immediately and looked around, floating a few inches above the wreckage where his body had come to rest. He looked down at his own hands, faintly transparent and glowing from within as they always did right after he died. He could see his own corpse in the wreckage below through his fingers, a pool of blood growing larger where his head used to be.

Stan was dead before the bus came to a stop. Kenny spotted him drifting just beneath the ceiling of the bus, gazing in wonder at (and through) his own hands and the wreckage beneath him. He looked up and their eyes met.

"Kenny?" His voice was a heartbreaking combination of panic and resignation. "Am I…?"

They almost _always_ asked, even when the answer was obvious. Kenny moved closer, nodding his head. "Yeah, Stan." Kenny had hoped he would never have to answer this question for any of his best friends, at least not for a very long time and not under these circumstances. "You're dead."

Stan nodded, still looking around in wonder. He was accepting this very quickly, and Kenny was grateful for that. He knew what Stan's next question would be even before he asked it.

"Kyle?"

Kenny shook his head and looked down. This was going to be hard. "No Stan…not yet."

Stan followed his gaze toward the wreckage below. Kyle was lying half-buried in broken seats beside Stan's corpse, the bottom half of his body crushed beneath the wreckage, shuddering and trying to draw in a breath to scream through a shattered jaw and a mouthful of broken teeth.

"Kyle!" Stan cried, and Kenny moved quickly to intercept him.

"No, Stan…I'll go, okay?" Stan wouldn't begin to know what to do, or what to say. "You stay here and…and just keep processing this, okay?" He winced at that word: _Process_. It was a term Kenny had taken awhile to settle on to describe what people who think they've never died before go through when facing a sudden and unexpected death.

Stan nodded reluctantly, and Kenny drifted downward until he was crouched next to Kyle, peering into his eyes. Despite his extremis, Kyle's eyes locked onto his for a moment and Kenny thought, not sure whether or not to be relieved: _He can see me_.

"You're going to be okay Kyle," Kenny said as reassuringly as he could, knowing that Kyle could hear him as well. At times like this, he wished he had more than just words and the sound of his voice to offer someone who was dying a horrible death, a comforting hand on a shoulder perhaps.

Kyle's answer was another attempt at a scream, his eyes leaving Kenny's to rove around desperately, looking for anyone that could help him (that could make it so none of this was happening) and realizing that nothing or no one could. He coughed harshly and spat out another mouthful of crimson clots. His eyes were terrified and horribly aware of what was happening to him. Kenny could only watch as Kyle drowned in agony in his own blood, hoping his presence was at least a little comforting. Sometimes dying alone is better.

"You're going to be okay," Kenny repeated uselessly, watching as shock and blood loss finally took their toll and dragged Kyle down toward unconsciousness and the realization that would come soon afterward. Once Kyle's eyes were half-closed and mostly blank and he had stopped shaking, Kenny drifted back up to be with Stan again. He suspected that Kyle wouldn't take any of this very well at first once he joined them.

"He's going to be okay, Stan," Kenny repeated yet again, and he saw in Stan's eyes that he was already well under way to _processing_ what was happening, and he knew exactly what Kenny meant by 'going to be okay'.

Kenny heard the first sirens coming from outside the bus, and knew what would happen next. Soon, 'help' would arrive, and life for those who came to try to save them would go on. Those rescuers would go through a lot of trouble for nothing, clambering down the steep embankment outside to try to save as many lives as they could, going home hours later trying to forget what they had seen here today as their rescue mission turned into a recovery one.

And Kenny would come back to life tomorrow with everyone he really cared about gone, dozens of lives shattered and futures they once dreamed about ended by a single moment of carelessness.

Something else was happening outside the bus, and Kenny looked away, not wanting to acknowledge it despite its inevitability. An enormous sphere of white light was slowly descending from the sky, shining brighter through the remains of the windshield as it drew closer. Only the newly-dead could see it, and soon they would all go into it and on to the afterlife that lay beyond…all except for Kenny of course.

Some of his classmates were already moving toward it, passing through the broken windshield and the sides and roof of the bus as if they weren't there. Kenny felt his heart break a little as he recognized them; there were so many: Token and Wendy (Kenny remembered they had been sitting together two seats in front of him); Mr. Mackey, Kevin Stoley, Ms. Crabtree, Heidi Turner, Bradley Biggle, Jimmy Valmer (his body now whole and no longer in need of crutches to get around), who looked back to give him a quick wave…

It was too much to bear, and Kenny looked away. He felt Stan looking at him, feeling their roles here starting to reverse, not wanting that, or any of this.

_No, Stan…don't you dare feel sorry for me_

Kenny heard a moan coming from the back of the bus and turned toward the sound, looking across what seemed like endless wreckage and bodies until he found the source. His eyes narrowed.

"Stan…wait here, okay? I have to check on something."

Stan looked at him sadly. "Kenny…don't _leave_ me here…"

"It's okay, Stan." He nodded toward the back of the bus. "I'll just be a few feet away…and I'll be back, all right? You stay here and…" Kenny saw in Stan's eyes that he knew what he was going to say next. "Wait for Kyle, okay? He's going to need you, dude."

He turned toward the back of the bus, still trying to ignore the growing light behind him.

"Have you seen Craig?" Tweek asked, appearing in front of him as if out of nowhere and blocking his way. He was perfectly calm, and Kenny knew he had _processed_ very quickly. "I haven't seen him since…you know. And I don't want him to think this was his fault!"

Kenny shook his head. "I haven't seen him," he answered honestly. He nodded toward the shining sphere outside the bus. "Maybe he went on ahead…"

Tweek nodded, and moved toward the light without another word, and Kenny drifted toward the rear emergency exit.

Cartman and Butters had been sharing the last seat on the right side of the bus, and had ended up mostly on top of the wreckage rather than being buried by it. It was still bad though; Butters was on his back trying to sit up, staring at his right leg, which was bent at an awkward angle. A sliver of gray bone protruded through a rip in his jeans just above his knee. Blood pulsed from around it in time with his heartbeat. _Oh shit._

Kenny knelt, his eyes inches from Butters' pale, shocked face and shouted "Butters!" There was no response, Butters trying to reach toward his thigh, his arms going right through Kenny as his fingers fumbled uselessly where he was bleeding out from. Kenny screamed his name over and over, but there was absolutely no recognition in his eyes at all, and even when Kenny got close enough to feel his hot breath against his face, Butters clearly couldn't see him.

Cartman obviously could though. "Christ, Kinny," he whined, shifting uncomfortably around on the wreckage under him. "Why don't you just kiss him?"

Kenny whirled on him. "Cartman?"

"Poor boy?" Cartman answered immediately, and Kenny knew the rude answer was his way of coping with what was happening to him. Cartman's eyes widened, possibly realizing that he could see right through Kenny.

"You, uh…" _You can see me?_ No, he couldn't say that. He had to be careful what he did say, or he might frighten Cartman into uselessness. He looked around desperately, seeing nothing that could be helpful. His eyes finally settled back on Cartman, specifically his waistline.

Just a few hours ago, he, Kyle and Stan had made fun of the outfit Cartman had worn today, laughing at the business suit, the polished black leather shoes and alligator hide belt; Cartman had claimed he had worn the belt just to piss off Wendy. Kenny's eyes settled on the belt. It would have to do, and he hoped it wasn't too late.

"Eric…" Kenny desperately needed Cartman to focus, something he seemed barely capable of doing. "You need to take off your belt."

Cartman blinked, going deeper into shock and wondering why he could see through Kenny. "Huh? What?"

"For Butters' leg! You need to make a tourniquet to stop the bleeding." He would give anything to be able to reach out and take Cartman's belt off and do this himself. Cartman was clearly badly injured as well and might very well be worthless.

Cartman stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Wha…"

"Eric, _please!_ You have to take off your belt—" he nodded toward Butters' broken leg. "And wrap it around his leg and make a tourniquet or else he's going to bleed to death." He raised his voice to a shout, hating himself for it. "NOW, Cartman!"

Shouting at him seemed to break through at least some of Cartman's stupor. "Okay, Kenny, Jesus." He unbuckled his belt and started pulling it through the loops on his dress slacks. He winced painfully when he leaned forward to pull the belt from behind himself, and it was only then that Kenny saw the long shard of metal that had pierced his back. It had gone in on the left side, probably piercing his liver, and he moaned with pain as a fresh gout of blood poured from the wound.

"Oh geez, Cartman," Kenny said sympathetically, but there was nothing he could do for him. Cartman seemed focused on the mission Kenny had given him, finally getting his belt off and leaning over to wrap it around Butters' thigh a few inches above the protruding bone, feeding the end through the buckle and trying to pull the belt tight.

Butters screamed, and his eyes rolled back into his head as he laid back, his mouth open wide as his scream faded away. Cartman, to his endless credit, pulled the belt even tighter and Butters shrieked again.

"Yeah, sorry Butters." Cartman's own face was a mask of pain and he was obviously failing fast. Kenny was frightened that this might not work. "Like this, Kenny?"

"You gotta pull it even tighter," Kenny replied, hating himself for putting Cartman through this, during what he knew was the last minutes of Cartman's life. "You have to practically strangle his leg." Cartman gave another weak tug on his belt and Butters finally passed out from the pain. His bleeding had mostly stopped, but Cartman was at the end of his rope and wouldn't be able to hold on much longer.

"What's this?"

Kenny whirled around at the sound of the voice. Clyde Donovan had been sleeping in the back seat of the bus on the driver's side, and he was making his way toward them now. His face was bloody, and his broken left arm hung limply at his side, but he was clearly very much aware, and not seriously injured. _Thank you, God._

He obviously didn't see Kenny either as he passed right through him, reaching with his right arm past Cartman's hands to take the end of the belt from him and pull it even tighter. Butters was unconscious by now, but Cartman was still very aware of his surroundings.

"I got this, Cartman," Clyde said, looking down at what he was doing, vague memories of a first aid class he had taken once stirring in his mind as he remembered where the pressure point in a thigh was. Kenny had always thought of Clyde as kind of an r-tard, but he could have kissed him right now.

"How did you _do_ that, Clyde?" Cartman asked, laying back and looking terrified.

Clyde looked puzzled. "Do _what?_" he asked, obviously confused and frightened as he watched Cartman dying before his eyes, bleeding out right in front of him. "I just took over holding this tourniquet…"

"No—not that!" Cartman cried desperately, his eyes going from Clyde's to Kenny's, seeking an answer that was becoming obvious to him. "Kenny?" His voice was anguished as their eyes locked. "How did he…go through you like that?"

"Kenny?" Clyde asked, looking around. "What are you talking about, Cartman?" He spotted Kenny's headless corpse lying a few feet away and cringed. "Oh, Jesus."

"Kenny?" Cartman was fading fast, his eyes beginning to come unfocused.

"You're going to be okay, Eric," Kenny promised, tired of saying those words and feeling like a hypocrite. He watched Cartman drift into unconsciousness, unable not to feel a stab of jealousy that even someone as hateful and bigoted as he had been still got to go on to what Kenny was certain was a wonderful afterlife.

Outside, the first rescuers had reached the bus and were struggling to get inside. Clyde turned away to watch as someone wrenched hard on a crowbar they had jammed into the rear emergency exit and the door sagged open on its hinges with a scream of tortured metal.

There was nothing more Kenny could do here, so he made his way back toward Stan. Things were not good. Kyle had just joined him seconds ago and was hysterical.

"You mean that old bitch wrecked the bus and we're all dead?" Kyle screamed, looking around desperately. "_NO!_ I have my whole life ahead of me! What about my parents…and Ike? They—they _need_ me, Stan!" He turned toward Kenny and his eyes darkened in anger.

"Kyle—" Kenny began.

"_NO!_" Kyle shouted again. He was shrieking, out of his mind. "_Fuck_ you, Kenny!" His arms flailed, wishing he could hit Kenny, or choke him, or hurt him somehow. "_This_ is what you meant when you said I'd be okay?" He looked around desperately. "This is _never _going to be okay! Godfucking_damnit_…_how_ can this be okay?" He moved away, passing through the side of the bus and outdoors, moving toward the still-expanding light.

Stan looked at Kenny desperately, seeking guidance. Kenny shook his head, hoping Kyle wouldn't leave yet, not certain if he even could before he…_processed_. "Stan…you go this time, okay?"

Stan nodded reluctantly and followed Kyle outside. More rescuers were making their way down the embankment, people shouting orders at others who were carrying far more medical equipment than they would need.

Kenny followed Stan outside into the afternoon sunlight, feeling their time together growing short as he passed easily through the side of the bus. Kyle and Stan were standing together, away from the light, even while others drew nearer to it. Kenny sadly took inventory of who hadn't left yet: Tweek, Token, Rebecca, and Sally Turner were all waiting by the light, looking at each other uncertainly.

"Kenny…" Kyle turned to look at him, and Kenny was relieved to see he was getting it now. "I'm…_sorry. _I know…you were just trying to help…this _will_ be okay, I know that now. What's happening to you is what's not okay." And then he voiced the thing they all knew, and Kenny felt his heart shatter the rest of the way. "You… you don't get to come with us, do you?" Stan was looking at him as well, the same anguished look in his eye.

Kenny shook his head. "No…you know I don't." He tried to laugh but it came out sounding forced and sad. "You know…I feel like I should be trying to help you guys get through this, not the other way around."

"Aww, Kenny…" Stan said, moving closer to him with Kyle right alongside him. "I wish you could come with us. You don't deserve this. I'm going to miss you dude."

Cartman joined them at that moment; he had obviously processed what had happened very quickly. "Damn…so _that's_ who really killed JFK, huh?" He looked around, his gaze settling on the dwindling group standing beside the sphere of light. "So…we're all dead, huh?"

There was no need for anyone to answer. They watched as more of their classmates went into the light, knowing their time here together was almost over.

"Hey, Kyle," Cartman said. He actually sounded contrite. "I'm sorry about that whole 'ginger Jew' thing…you know, when we were alive? It all seems kind of hella stupid now." He turned to Kenny and reached out to put his hand on Kenny's shoulder, remembering at the last moment that he wouldn't feel it. "And Kenny…"

"No need to say anything, Cartman." He watched several people emerge from the back of the bus, three of them carrying a stretcher with Butters strapped to it while a fourth held an I.V. bottle overhead, the thin plastic tubing running downward from it into Butters' arm glistening in the late afternoon sun. "You know…" Kenny nodded toward the paramedics. "You might have saved his life in there. That's gotta make up for a lot of things."

Cartman nodded. "You guys know I only gave him a hard time because I loved him, right?" He moved closer to Kenny. "I know I had a stupid way of showing it, but…" He shook his head. "His fucking parents are going to be useless to him…if he even survives."

Kenny looked at the stretcher and the men carrying Butters up the embankment. He was almost certain Butters _would_ live, or else he would have seen Kenny inside the bus. Whether he would recover from his injuries was another matter. "I'll look after him, Cartman."

A minute later, everyone else who had died in the crash was gone, and it was time for them to go as well. Kenny felt a lump rising in his throat as he fought back tears, watching as they were inexorably pulled into the light.

"Kenny…" Stan said sadly. "We'll never forget you, dude."

He nodded, appreciating the lie or at least the intention behind it. Now that they've fully processed and were ready to go, they knew essentially everything, from Cartman's observation about the greatest crime of the twentieth century, to the true nature of God and the universe. They would remember him while they were in the afterlife; but in fifty years, or five hundred, when they eventually get recycled back to life again, they'll forget everything about today and the life they had left behind.

And perhaps one night, one of them would have an especially vivid dream about a friend they once knew who used to wear an orange parka with the hood pulled around his face, or have a vague memory of him whenever they smelled cat piss or cigarette smoke.

Stan, Kyle, and Cartman began moving toward the light, being drawn into it. The three of them waved, and Kyle called back over his shoulder, "Good bye, Kenny!" He and Stan were holding each other's hands, merging together.

Kenny sobbed and wiped tears from his cheeks. Just before they disappeared and the light drew back up into the sky and vanished, he shook his head and waved back at them.

"Good bye, you guys."

And then they were gone, and Kenny was alone. And as he felt himself being pulled down into the familiar darkness, he found himself wishing that maybe God would let him forget them, just as they had forgotten all the times they had seen him die.

When he awoke the next morning, swaddled in his own dirty sheets and staring at his bedroom ceiling, he realized his wish had been futile. He remembered _everything_.

**~0~**

**This was originally going to be a one-shot, but nope. So: To be continued.**


	2. Chapter 2

Kenny rolled over and pulled the sheets over his head, closing his eyes and crushing his pillow against his ears. He didn't want to get out of bed; with all of his friends dead, he didn't see the point. He sighed, wishing he could go to sleep but no matter how hard he squeezed his eyes shut, he couldn't block out the memory of Kyle's face as he looked around desperately just before he died. He couldn't forget the sounds of Butters' screams, or the way his eyes had rolled back in his head when Cartman tightened the tourniquet around his leg.

Butters. _There_ was a reason to get up…eventually.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, yesterday's events playing over and over in glorious detail in his mind, but eventually there was a soft knock on his bedroom door. Kenny sighed; he'd been expecting it, not that he didn't welcome the intrusion. Only one person living in their house even bothered to knock.

"Come on in, Karen." He sat up, leaning his back against the wall and pushing the sheet down toward his lap.

The door opened and his little sister peeked in. She wasn't so little anymore, and indeed was turning into a beautiful teenager who was beginning to draw the eyes of a lot of boys in her class. Since their dad was a useless drunk, it would be up to Kenny to watch out for her in that department soon, and make sure she didn't follow in their mother's footsteps. He'd rehearsed the _if you break my sister's heart I will break __**you**_ speech dozens of times in his mind, even before the accident.

"Hey Kenny," she said softly, approaching the bed and adjusting one of the straps on her pink backpack around her shoulders. "I'm going to school now; I just came in to see if you were okay."

Kenny shrugged. _All my friends are dead, no I'm not okay. _"Yeah…I'm all right." He patted the mattress and Karen sat down. "Did you have anything to eat?"

"I had a pop tart. I saved you one." She reached into her backpack and pulled out the familiar wrapper and offered it to him. He broke off a small corner and handed the rest back. "You take it, Karebear; I'll get something when I go out later." He bit into the piece he had taken: Artificial strawberry flavor. At her frown he added, spilling a few crumbs down his chin: "I promise."

"Well, all right." She seemed about to stand, then leaned over to give him a hug. "Kenny…I'm so sorry about your friends."

He hugged her back, burying his face against the long brown hair falling past her shoulders, grateful that not everyone he cared about had been on that bus. "Thanks, Karen." It occurred to him that he would have to figure out how he supposedly 'survived' yesterday's accident; his first memory after watching all his friends and classmates disappear into the light was waking up in bed just a few minutes ago.

Once Karen had left, Kenny reluctantly forced himself to get up and turned on his ancient computer, and while it booted up he pulled on his cleanest pair of jeans and a plain white tee shirt. Then he sat down at his desk and started looking through internet news sites. Because of the enormity of the tragedy, every major news outlet had a story about it on their main page. Kenny finally clicked on the CNN article and began reading. He skipped over the details of what happened and the long list of the dead, more interested in who _didn't_ die:

_Two students of the South Park High Senior Class, Bebe Stevens and Timothy Birch, survived because they were on the prom decorating committee and had been working on decorations at the ballroom of the Airport Hilton for the upcoming senior prom._

_Of the students on the bus, only two survived with injuries: Leopold Stotch, whose condition was upgraded this morning from critical to serious, had severe lower extremity injuries, while Clyde Donovan escaped with a broken arm and other minor injuries._

Kenny sighed when he came to the next paragraph.

_One student, Kenneth McCormick, emerged from the wreck miraculously uninjured._

There was a slideshow of pictures of the accident. Kenny scrolled through the first three, all pictures of the wrecked bus taken from high up on the embankment. When he came to the fourth one, of a stretcher being carried out the back exit, Butters bright blond hair clearly visible alongside a paramedic's arm, Kenny stood up and quickly left his house, setting out on foot across the railroad tracks toward town.

Twenty minutes later he arrived at the main entrance to Hell's Pass Hospital and went inside. He was pleased to see Bebe and Clyde (his left arm encased from shoulder to wrist in a blue fiberglass cast) in the main lobby. Clyde's father was standing at the administration desk nearby.

"Kenny!" Bebe said, rushing from Clyde's side to give him a hug.

"Hey, Ken," Clyde said listlessly a moment later, walking over much more slowly and in obvious discomfort. Bebe grabbed onto his good arm with both hands.

"Hey, guys." Kenny looked around the lobby; Roger Donovan looked his way for a moment before turning away again. "Have you two been up to see Butters yet?"

"They won't let us because he's in intensive care," Bebe replied, and Kenny's heart fell. So much for his hopes of going up to see how he was doing, and to let him know he'd be seeing a lot more of Kenny in the coming days if he wanted. "But," Bebe added a moment later. "He's been asking to see you! His dad's up there with him, and I guess he's pretty insistent that you be allowed in. So…I guess you can go on up."

Kenny nodded, and turned to Clyde. "How are _you_ doing man? How's your arm?"

Clyde looked down at his cast forlornly. "It's all right. It hurts a lot, but they gave me some pills…" He looked up unhappily. "Cartman said some really strange shit yesterday right before he died. It was like he thought he was talking to you. I looked around and didn't see you anywhere." He appeared like he was about to cry, and Bebe gripped his right bicep tighter. "I watched him _die_ man, right in front of me! I was holding onto Butters' tourniquet, there was nothing I could do." He blinked, pulling his arm from Bebe to swipe at tears. "He seemed to think you were there or something."

"I'm sorry, dude." Kenny looked down toward Bebe's shoes to give Clyde a moment of privacy while he wiped his eyes. They'd never been particularly good friends, but he had a feeling he would be spending a lot of time in the coming days and months with these two. And (he hoped) Butters; a random memory of their strange trip to Hawaii together _(almost ten years ago…Jesus)_ came to him, the two of them walking along the shore while warm waves lapped at their ankles, Butters prattling on about the movie _Argo_.

Kenny realized he might even learn how to have a conversation with Timmy; somehow others managed to. Survivors have to stick together, right?

"He's in room 314," Bebe said. Clyde's father was walking toward them, a 'we're all finished here' look in his eye. Kenny nodded.

"We're ready to go, son," Roger Donovan said, turning his gaze to include Kenny. "Hello, Ken. I'm so sorry about what happened."

Kenny nodded. "Thank you, sir." He looked back at Clyde and Bebe; she was still clinging to his arm. "I'll talk to you guys soon."

"Okay, Kenny," Clyde answered, seeming reluctant to end their conversation.

"Do you want to get some breakfast before we go home?" Roger asked his son as they started toward the exit.

"Only if Bebe can come," Clyde replied. Kenny turned toward the bank of elevators.

"Of course she can." Their conversations faded behind him. Kenny rode the elevator alone to the third floor, stepping out onto green carpet when the door trundled open. He looked over the signs on the wall, turning to his right and walking toward room 314, entering an area that was clearly the Intensive Care wing.

Stephen Stotch was sitting in a chair outside the door of room 314. At Kenny's approach, he stood up. He appeared to have aged twenty years since the last time Kenny had seen him.

"Hello, Kenneth." He smiled sadly, offering Kenny his hand and they shook.

"Kenny." He let go of Butters' father's hand. "Hi, Mr. Stotch."

There was a long awkward silence while Kenny waited for the older man to say something. "You might as well call me Stephen. Kenny…Butters has been asking to see you. You're one of his best friends, aren't you?"

Kenny nodded, even while he was considering his answer. Was he? They had been when they went to Hawaii together almost a decade ago, but since then Butters' and his lives had seemed to go off in two different trajectories. Butters was college bound while Kenny expected to spend the rest of his life here in South Park working at a dead end job. They still talked, and they would hang out together with Stan, Cartman and Kyle (_not anymore)_. He wouldn't say he was particularly close to Butters anymore, but Kenny sensed that would be changing soon, just like his friendships with Clyde and Bebe (and Timmy).

"Yes sir, I am." Kenny was pleased with how honest the half lie sounded.

"I'm glad to hear that." Butters' father was looking at his shoes. "He's going to need a lot of help in the coming months, to get over this. I hope you can be there for him."

"Of course I will." There was something odd about this conversation, but Kenny couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Of course he meant for Kenny to be there as well as them…right? He wished he could talk to Stan and Kyle about this.

"I'm glad to hear that, Kenny. I…I want to get your cell phone number so we can stay in touch, and give you mine…"

Kenny nodded, slightly relieved, but something about this still seemed off. "Good idea." He pulled his cheap TracFone from his pocket and entered the phone number Stephen gave him into its memory and recited his own number while Butters' dad entered it into his $300 Smartphone.

"Why don't you go in and see him?" Stephen said once they had put their phones away. "I'm going to go downstairs to the cafeteria for a bite to eat. I'll be back in twenty minutes. Do you want anything?"

"Maybe a cup of coffee?" Kenny asked hopefully as he offered his hand. Stephen's palm was extremely damp when they shook this time; it hadn't been just a minute ago.

"You bet! Thank you, Kenny."

It wasn't until Kenny had entered the room and looked at the single bed in the middle, IV lines and wires going into Butters' arms and the entire lower half of his body encased in a plaster cast and his right leg elevated in a complex system of pulleys that Kenny thought to wonder about three things: Why was _he_ even allowed in here, and why hadn't Stephen asked him how he wanted his coffee?

_And where the hell is his mother?_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who left feedback on this! It's much appreciated. XxDarkSarcasm1010xX and Impassive Tears: Yeah, Craig didn't make it. I probably should have made that clearer; perhaps actually mentioning it would have been a good idea :-). Sorry about that. There's one more chapter to go after this…enjoy! _

Butters' eyes were closed as Kenny approached the bed, and he briefly considered turning around and coming back later, not wanting to wake him. Then Butters opened his eyes, turned his head toward him, and smiled. He seemed to be having trouble focusing, and Kenny realized that Butters was probably on some pretty powerful painkillers.

"Kenny!" His voice was barely a whisper, but he was clearly delighted to see him.

"Hey man." Kenny's voice wasn't much louder. "It's ah…it's good to see you."

Butters' smile grew even broader. He tried to say something else, but his voice was raspy and it looked like it hurt to talk. He stopped trying and put a hand to his throat instead, the I.V. line in that arm swinging through the air with the movement.

"Butters?" Kenny asked, suddenly concerned. "Are you okay? Can I get you something?"

"Water…" he whispered. Kenny nodded and looked around, hoping to find a pitcher or water bottle and finally spotted a small plastic cup of ice chips sitting on a rolling tray next to a mostly-empty lunch plate alongside the bed. Kenny picked it up and offered it, but Butters was so out of it that his fingers closed around empty air four inches below the cup. Kenny was seriously considering going out to find a doctor or nurse to check on him.

"Here, man." He shook the cup to loosen some of the ice at the top and held it to Butters' lips. "I got this, okay?"

Butters lipped some of the ice from the cup, and for a moment the only sound in the hospital room was Butters chewing ice chips. The sound transported Kenny back to yesterday, inside the wrecked bus. It was so vivid it was as though he was actually there, reliving it all over again.

_Most of Kyle's teeth had been broken when his face impacted the back of the seat in front of him. He had spit several of them out along with a lot of blood and was staring in horror at them while Kenny was kneeling beside him trying to be comforting. They looked like tiny pieces of broken china in a crimson puddle._

Kenny moaned and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push that awful memory away. He opened them a moment later and forced himself to smile.

"Thanks…" Butters whispered, reaching for the cup again and this time managing to wrap his fingers around it. He chewed another mouthful of ice and Kenny looked away trying to ignore the sound, that terrible memory from yesterday still threatening to overwhelm him.

He handed the cup back to Kenny a few moments later, and Kenny set it back on the tray. He was trying to think of something to say when Butters spoke first, his voice a little stronger even though the words made no sense.

"Kenny? Are…are you an angel?"

_Woah,_ Kenny thought. _Yeah…good drugs._

Butters' eyes seemed clearer than they'd been a few moments ago, and he was regarding him, waiting for an answer.

"Um, Butters." He tried to give him a carefree smile and knew he failed miserably. "All I did was give you some ice chips—"

"No…not that." Butters tried to sit up straighter, but the cast on the lower half of his body wouldn't let him. "I mean…yesterday. On the bus?" Kenny was watching him closely; he seemed mostly lucid, staring directly at him now. "You were there with me…weren't you?"

Kenny felt as though cold water had been poured into his head and was now making its way down his body, slowly making him go numb.

"What do you mean, Butters?"

"Eric was talking to you, before he…he died?" His eyes closed sadly for a moment, and reopened. "I—I think _you_ told him to take his belt off to put around my leg." Kenny's entire body felt cold now. "He said your name a couple times…and asked you if he was doing it right. And…" his voice grew quieter as though he was afraid someone else would overhear. "And…I thought I heard you calling my name, like you were a long way away, but when I looked for you I couldn't see you."

Kenny shook his head, trying to clear his vision, which was going gray. _I wonder if he'll remember this tomorrow? If he could hear me…he was closer to dying than I thought_.

"So…are you?" At Kenny's quizzical look he added: "An angel?"

"No—"

"But you were there. I know it! I…" He trailed off.

"Butters…" His head was finally beginning to clear, his body warming up again. "I'm not an angel. I…" He shook his head, hoping that Butters wouldn't remember this conversation. "Look, man…maybe we should talk about this when you're feeling better, okay?"

Butters looked disappointed, but he nodded. "Okay." He looked uncomfortable and Kenny tried to arrange the pillows under his head, again wondering if he should go find somebody. Butters looked up at him gratefully. "Will you come see me again?"

Kenny nodded. "Of course! I'll come every day if you want me to."

"I do, Kenny! I—I'd like that."

"Then I will. I promise." Butters settled back, seemingly relieved by Kenny's reply. "You asked for me to come up here? I think you're only supposed to have immediate family members visiting you in this part of the hospital."

"It's because of what I remember about yesterday," Butters said simply. "I _had_ to see you, Kenny. I…" He looked around the room, noticing a chair in the corner; Kenny wondered why his father hadn't been sitting in it before, instead of in the one outside in the hallway. "Wanna sit down?"

Kenny smiled and nodded, grateful for something to do for a moment. He moved the chair over to the side of the bed and sat in it.

Butters folded his hands together on his chest. "Did you talk to my dad?"

"Yeah…he was just outside the door when I got here. He went downstairs for something to eat. He'll be back in about twenty minutes."

Butters nodded his head knowingly. "No, he won't."

Kenny's heart clenched as Butters confirmed a worry he'd been trying to deny. Would Stephen and Linda Stotch actually abandon him?

"Butters…what are you talking about?"

"They're going to leave me," Butters replied as though he was stating the obvious; he might as well have said the sun was shining, and Kenny's heart sank as he recalled the awkward conversation he'd had out in the hallway.

"Butters…no, they wouldn't—"

"Did you see my mom, Kenny?" It was a rhetorical question and Butters didn't wait for an answer. "No, you didn't. That's because she's upstairs on the fourth floor, in the psych ward." Butters tipped the cup and chewed more ice and Kenny gritted his teeth as he listened. "She can't deal with this—" Butters looked down, indicating his leg. "And my dad is always going to side with her over me, so…"

"Butters, I refuse to believe that! Do you want me to call him right now and—"

"No, Kenny…it's okay. I—I'd rather be alone, than have to deal with them. They'd probably ground me because my leg wasn't healing fast enough…"

Kenny's phone began singing Right Said Fred's "I'm…too sexy for my shirt…" and as he fumbled it from his pocket he made a mental note to change his ringtone. His eyes widened at the caller ID display: _Stephen Stotch_.

"Butters, it's your dad!" He pressed the talk button. "Hello!"

"Kenny?" Mr. Stotch's voice sounded far away. "I…ah, got called away on something for work. I was hoping you could do us a favor? Linda's put together a few things to make Butters a little more comfortable while he's there. Could you come over to the house and get them? You can drive Linda's car back to the hospital if you want to; you have your driver's license, don't you?"

Kenny assured him that he, indeed, had a license.

"Good! And tell Butters we'll be by to see him in a couple of hours. Thank you, Kenny!"

"All right…" But Stephen had already ended the call. He looked away from his phone, back at Butters.

"He didn't even ask how I was, did he?"

Kenny winced. "Butters…"

"It's okay." He sighed. "What did he want?"

Kenny told him about the call, emphasizing that Stephen had said they'd be back later to visit him. Butters didn't appear convinced.

"All right." Butters settled back against his pillow. "Do you wanna go do that? I'm kind of tired. I think I might try to sleep for a little while."

"Yeah." Kenny nodded and stepped closer to the bed. After a moment's hesitation he put his fingertips carefully on the back of Butters' hand, mindful of the I.V. line going into a vein a few inches away. "I'll be back in an hour or so. It's going to be okay."

"Oh, I know!" He sounded very sure of this. "You'll be back, right?"

"Of course. I, ah…" He decided to acknowledge the elephant in the room. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I know, Ken." Butters smiled. "I'll see you later."

Kenny paused at the door, looking at Butters who had already fallen asleep. He realized that, judging from the cast, both of his legs must have been broken but only one was a compound fracture with exposed bone.

_When Cartman had pulled the belt tight around Butters' thigh, the jagged edge of bone had scraped against torn tissue and muscle. Butters' shriek of agony had been unearthly; Kenny knew what that kind of pain felt like—_

"Jesus Christ," Kenny moaned, pinching his eyes shut and once again trying to suppress a memory he never wanted to visit again. He shook his head, the memory finally reluctantly fading away.

Kenny left the hospital and once again set out on foot. It was the first week of June, and the sun was shining down hot and bright overhead. The air was very still. Kenny was sweating by the time he reached the Stotch's house twenty minutes later. Linda's car, a five year old light blue Honda Civic, was parked in the driveway; his dad's SUV was nowhere in sight.

Kenny knocked on the front door, and after thirty seconds knocked again. When there was still no answer, he tried the doorknob and the door swung inward.

"Hello?" he called through the door. There was no answer, and the house _sounded_ empty. He took two steps inside, called out again, and looked around.

Someone had started painting the living room recently. The smell of fresh paint was hanging in the air, and there were haphazard patches of lime green paint on the walls someone had scattered randomly with a paint roller, covering over the original lighter shade of green. Strangest of all was the portrait of Butters' family on the wall. Whoever had been painting had run the roller over it twice, covering Stephen and Linda's faces and leaving only Butters' uncovered.

Kenny spotted a backpack on the living room table, and walked over and sat down on the dark blue couch beside it. There was also a single key, and a white envelope with his name written on it. He picked up the envelope first, tore it open and removed its contents: A folded note, and $200 cash. He opened the note and read.

**_Kenny,_**

**_By now, Butters might have surmised that we are leaving. My wife is unable to deal with what happened (that's her handiwork on the walls), so I am taking her away from this. The doctors say Butters will be fine, and should be able to walk again in a few months, perhaps with a cane. He's 18 now and can make his own decisions. I trust you will be a good friend to him._**

**_Stephen C. Stotch_**

**_P.S. You can keep the car._**

Kenny had never hated anyone as much as he hated Stephen Stotch at that moment. He angrily pulled out his phone and speed-dialed the number he'd been given. The phone rang once and went to a recorded message: "The number you have dialed has been disconnected and is no longer—"

He ended the call. "F_uck!_" he shouted. "Goddamnit…" It wasn't that he was unwilling to help Butters; quite the opposite, he was beginning to realize he might find a sense of purpose in it. But how could he be expected to replace Butters' parents?

_"__I'd rather be alone, than have to deal with them. They'd probably ground me because my leg wasn't healing fast enough…"_

Oh yeah, Butters _had_ said that. But how much did he mean it? Kenny opened the backpack and inspected the contents: A couple tee-shirts and pairs of underwear, a small Hello Kitty plushie, a paperback romance novel that judging from the bookmark midway through it Butters must have been reading, and his Chemistry and Political Science textbooks.

Kenny sighed sadly. More to make himself feel better than to be helpful, he went upstairs to Butters' room to see if there was anything else he might like to have. He returned five minutes later with a half dozen comic books and Butters' iPad. He removed the two textbooks and set them on the table, replacing them with what he'd brought, then picked up the cash and key and went back outside.

The air conditioning in Linda's car blew extremely cold and Kenny put it on high as he backed out of the driveway. He stopped and was about to put the car into drive when he was hit by yet another flashback.

_Kenny had felt his head being torn from his body, and had remained conscious for several seconds as his head tumbled toward the front of the bus, ending up alongside Ms. Crabtree's feet. The last thing he had seen before his consciousness faded was the underside of the brake pedal._

"Oh, _come on!_" he screamed, pounding his forehead with the heels of both hands. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

Kenny had died dozens of times before, sometimes in ways that made Kyle's death seem merciful by comparison. He had seen other people die as well. But he had never been troubled by flashbacks like this before, and he knew it had to be because almost all of his friends had died this time with him.

He finally managed to push the memory from his mind and drive on. He stopped at a store and bought several of Butters' favorite candy bars, and as he paid for them with one of the twenties Stephen had left, he realized he must be a better friend than he'd thought if he knew what Butters' favorite chocolate bar was.

But as he drove on to the hospital and parked, he wondered how he was going to tell Butters that his suspicion about his parents had been true.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Two months later…_**

Clyde swung his hammer one more time, pounding in what he'd decided would be his last nail for the day. He set the hammer down and rubbed his left arm just above his elbow, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry, Kenny. I think I'd better call it quits for the day."

Kenny looked up from the board he was nailing down ten feet away. "Aww, your arm's really bothering you, huh?" At Clyde's nod, he added: "No problem, man. About twelve more boards and we're done. I can finish this up."

"Cool…thanks." Clyde settled back, enjoying the slight breeze while he watched Kenny work, setting another board down and nailing it into place. He'd been working his ass off for the past week getting ready for today, and Clyde thought he looked exhausted. Butters had finally been discharged from the hospital this morning, and he and Clyde had spent the day tearing down the front steps of the Stotch house and replacing them with a ramp.

"Butters has some Vicodin if your arm is really sore," Kenny said, setting another board down and picking up his hammer.

Clyde laughed. "Nah, it isn't that bad." Kenny nodded and continued working; Another ten minutes and he'd be finished. Clyde moved closer to Kenny, handing him nails as he needed them, thinking he had never imagined their lives would turn out this way.

Butters had received a sizeable settlement check from the school's insurance company, thanks in large part to Gerald Broflovski's tireless efforts to get compensation for the families of the victims as quickly as possible. Clyde and Kenny had received checks as well, and although theirs were considerably smaller than Butters' had been, Karen was no longer eating pop tarts for breakfast.

Kenny finally drove the last nail and stood up. "Done!" he said triumphantly. "Let's go find someone to try it out." They walked together into the cool shade of the garage. Butters was sitting just inside the door in his wheelchair talking to Bebe while they sipped on tall glasses of lemonade. Timmy was nearby in his chair, humming contentedly to himself and playing Angry Birds on his iPad.

Clyde sat down on the floor next to Bebe and she reached down to rub his neck. "Ramp's done!" he announced.

"Yeah," Kenny said, walking over to stand beside Butters. "Someone needs to come try it out—"

"Timmy!" Timmy shouted excitedly, setting down his iPad and gunning his motorized wheelchair forward and out the garage door past a very amused Kenny. He easily shot up the ramp Kenny and Clyde had built, doing two complete 360s next to the front door and holding his fist in the air when he finally stopped to look down at them. "Timmy!" he called down to them, sounding pleased.

"Thanks, Tim," Kenny said, grinning. Timmy had essentially told him that they had built an excellent ramp.

"I guess the real test will be me going up it," Butters said, reaching down with both arms to roll his chair forward.

"You want to try it with your chair or the crutches first?" Kenny asked.

Butters considered the question for a moment. "Chair, I think. They—they kind of worked me pretty hard in physical therapy this morning."

"Sure, man." Kenny took a step back as Butters pushed the wheelchair past him. The manual wheelchair was Butters' doctors' idea; they'd wanted him to build his upper body strength to help him compensate for the partial loss of the use of his legs.

Butters easily pushed himself up the ramp, Timmy mumbling an encouraging "Tim…meh!" when he was three quarters of the way up. Butters rolled triumphantly across the top of the ramp a moment later, fist-bumping Timmy as he stopped alongside him.

"All right!" Clyde said happily, and he, Bebe, and Kenny walked up the ramp together.

Kenny pulled out his cellphone and ordered three pizzas and drinks to be delivered; the person who took his call was very familiar with Kenny and commented about the extra pizza in today's order. While they waited for their food to arrive, they sat in Butters' living room and reminisced about their friends. Kenny never got tired of hearing and telling stories about Stan, Kyle, and Eric, and he told them one about going camping when they were fourteen; Kyle had found a small garter snake and put it inside Cartman's sleeping bag.

"Wendy used to try to get me to put on this one lipstick she really liked," Bebe said. "I kept telling her it was _her_ color, you know?" She looked around the room. "I finally gave in and used it one night. She took one look at me and said 'yeah, you were right; never again'."

Clyde gave her a sad smile. "Craig and I used to order a pizza when we'd watch movies on Saturday night." He sighed. "We'd get a half cheese and pepperoni, and half sausage and mushroom pizza. He finally convinced me to try a bite of his side…it's my favorite kind of pizza now."

There was an awkward silence. Timmy finally broke it by whispering, "Jim—mey…" He looked up, his eyes glistening.

"Oh, sweetie…" Bebe stood up from the couch and walked over to his wheelchair to give him a hug. "We _all_ miss our friends."

Timmy nodded at her gravely. "Timmy…" He might only know a couple words, but Kenny had learned over the past eight weeks that his expressions could speak volumes.

Kenny was relieved when there was a knock at the front door. He rose quickly to answer it, hoping that they had gotten their regular deliveryman and smiling hugely when he saw that they had. Michael the tall Goth kid was standing on the ramp they'd built, holding three pizza boxes in one hand and a container with five large plastic cups in the other. "It's about time you got here, you newly-conformist asshole! Our order should be free this time."

"Fuck off, capitalist lacky," Michael deadpanned. Kenny smirked as Michael seemed to just now notice the unusual order. "Well what do you know…your order comes to $24.50 this time." He gave Kenny a small lopsided smile; their regular order usually came to exactly eighteen dollars. "I guess Butters came home today?"

"Yeah, he did." Kenny handed over thirty dollars, and took the three pizza boxes. "Keep the change, corporate cog."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Dickhead, I would have anyway, even if you didn't tell me to."

Kenny laughed. "How's Henrietta doing?" He had learned the three older Goth kids' story in bits and pieces; all three had simultaneously dropped out of school last January (thus saving their lives) when Henrietta had become pregnant. Apparently it wasn't known whether Michael or Pete was the father; all three of them were living together as a thruple in a single wide trailer not far from Kenny's house.

"She's due to pop out another human in three weeks. And you think _this_ is bad?" He gestured down at himself, indicating the black tee-shirt and jeans, the closest to his usual attire that his boss at Whistlin' Willie's let him get away with. "Pete just got promoted to assistant manager where he works; they make him wear a white shirt and tie now."

"I bet he hates that!" Butters said, rolling up alongside Kenny. "Hi, Michael."

"Hey Butters." Michael tipped his head. "Welcome home."

"Give our love to Pete and Henrietta," Bebe called from the living room. "You three should come over for dinner some night."

"Henrietta won't want to, at least until after she has the kid," Michael replied. "And either me or Pete is with her all the time now, in case she has to go to the hospital. Maybe we can in a few weeks?"

"We'll look for you," Kenny said. They said their goodnights and went back inside. Dinner was much more cheerful, and after Timmy and his wheelchair were in the backseat of Clyde's car and he and Bebe had left, Kenny took hold of Butters' wheelchair handles and slowly pushed him up the brand new ramp while they watched Clyde's tail lights retreat in the distance.

Once they were inside and Kenny had shut the front door, Butters turned around to look up at him. He smiled. "So, Kenny…show me what you did to my dad's study."

Kenny grinned, eager to show off his work. "You bet! Come with me."

"Like I have a choice." Butters laughed, turning around and settling back as Kenny rolled the wheelchair through the living room, past the kitchen and through the door leading into Stephen Stotch's study. When he'd first told Butters his plans for this room, Kenny had offered to paint over the ridiculous green plaid wallpaper, but Butters had asked him to leave it the way it was, saying he "kinda liked it."

"I hope you don't mind that I did this," Kenny said as he stopped the wheelchair in the middle of the room. "But those stairs would be too much for you right now."

Butters looked around the room delighted. Kenny had set up Stephen and Linda's bed next to the window, dragging the king-sized mattress and box springs down the stairs and enlisting Clyde's help yesterday with Butters' dresser and desk. It was a small room, and everything was packed in close together; Kenny thought it made the room seem more intimate. He'd also lit a small fire in the fireplace, and a few small flames still crackled on the hearth.

"This is really nice, Ken." Butters rolled his wheelchair forward, stopping alongside the bed. He looked up and smiled. "Kenny, I guess I'm gonna get ready for bed. I, ah…hate to ask, but could you bring me my pain pills and some water?"

Kenny nodded. "Sure, man. Your legs are really bothering you, huh?" At Butters nod, he added: "I'll be right back."

Kenny returned a minute later with Butters' bottle of Vicodin and a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Butters had tossed his jeans in the corner and was wearing a pair of blue plaid boxers and a South Park Cows tee shirt. "Do you want one or two?" he asked, looking away from the two long surgical scars above Butters' right knee where steel rods had been inserted to piece together his shattered femur.

"Two, I think." The doctors had warned them about the risk of addiction, but Butters hadn't needed a single pill in almost a week. He had said that today's round of therapy had been rough…so Kenny shook two pills into his hand and gave them to Butters, passing him the water bottle a moment later.

"Thanks, Kenny." Butters wiped water from his chin with the back of his hand.

"Sure dude." He watched Butters lock the brake on his wheelchair and transfer himself onto the edge of the mattress, using mostly his arms. Kenny leaned against the dresser, suddenly feeling awkward.

Butters seemed to sense it. "You know Ken…when you go home today, it'll be the first time I've been really alone since…" he swallowed. "_It_ happened."

Kenny nodded and looked down at the carpet, biting his lower lip. He looked up a moment later.

"Um…maybe I don't have to leave?"

Butters slowly nodded. "I—I was kinda hopin' you'd say that."

Kenny couldn't quite look Butters in the eyes. "I…could sleep on the couch…or upstairs in your old bed."

Butters began kneading his knuckles together. "Or…or you could sleep here with me," he said, almost too softly to hear. "I mean…if you want to." He was looking at Kenny hopefully.

Kenny nodded, releasing a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Yeah. That would be my first choice too." He walked over and sat down on the mattress next to Butters. He seemed unsure what to do next and finally put his arm around Butters' shoulder.

Butters smiled, their faces inches apart. "Just so you know…I'm _way_ too sore an' tired to…um, mess around tonight. But…just so we're clear: Do you want to be with me, Kenny? Because I _sure_ want to be with you."

Kenny couldn't look away from Butters' eyes now, even if he wanted to. He had barely dared to hope this would happen. "Uh huh."

Butters looked as though a weight had been lifted from him. "Do you want to cuddle with me?" At Kenny's nod, Butters lay back on the mattress, using his elbows to drag his legs across the sheet. Kenny lay down on his side next to him, looking uncertain of his next move.

"What should we…?"

Butters looked at him for a moment and suddenly laughed. "It's just cuddling, Kenny! Here…just put your head on my chest."

Kenny did and curled up alongside him, wrapping an arm carefully around Butters' side and making sure his knees were away from Butters' legs. He didn't want to accidently jostle them. He suspected the pills Butters had taken would be kicking in shortly and he'd be asleep soon.

"Hmm," Butters hummed happily, wrapping his arms around Kenny's back and rubbing small circles through his tee shirt. "This is nice."

"Yeah…it is." Kenny sighed happily, feeling very content for what felt like the first time in a long while.

"You…you've been with a boy before, haven't you?"

Kenny nodded. "Yeah. But, um…not one I really cared about."

"Aww, thank you." He nuzzled the top of Kenny's head, kissing his scalp. "I like cuddling with you a lot more than Hello Kitty. You're…um…"

"More interactive?" Kenny suggested and Butters laughed. Kenny smiled, enjoying the backrub he was being given. They lay quietly for several minutes. Butters' heartbeat was a soothing rhythm in Kenny's ear. He could sense Butters wanting to talk about something.

"Ken…?" Butters finally began hesitantly. "Are…are you still having flashbacks?"

Kenny nodded, tracing his index finger along the horn on the South Park Cows logo on Butters' shirt. "Uh huh. But it's not as bad as before. I don't have them several times a day now, just every once in a while."

That much was true, but what he didn't say is that when one _did_ strike without warning, it was as painful and debilitating as ever. No matter where he was or what he was doing, he could suddenly find himself in his mind back to that day inside the bus; and the horror of those memories was as painful and real as when they first happened. Kyle dying in agony was the most frequent one, followed by the sounds of Butters' screams; but the one Kenny hated the most was saying goodbye to his friends as they disappeared into the light.

"Well, you know, Ken." Butters nuzzled the top of his head. "If it ever gets too much to handle, you could find someone to talk to. That's what part of that money you got is for. You know Karen would want you to."

Kenny nodded, too tired to be annoyed that they were having this conversation again. "I know. I will."

"It's just…you're the strongest person I know…and you've been workin' real hard! All this stuff you've done for me, and visiting me in the hospital every day…you need to take some time for _you_, mister."

"You know…I'll tell you something." Butters hands stopped their movements as he listened. "As long as I keep busy, doing things for you…or last week, when I helped Clyde and Bebe move their stuff into their new place? As long as I'm busy doing something, I'm okay. I don't think about that day…and it's a lot better than sitting in a boring classroom used to be."

Butters hugged him tighter for a moment. "I don't know what I would have done without you, Ken. You've been really good to me." He took a deep breath. "And you never _did_ answer my question."

"What question is that?" Kenny asked, and then he knew, and he tried not to react; he had hoped Butters had forgotten about it.

"Remember the first time you came to see me in the hospital? I asked you if you were an angel, and you said you weren't. And you were going to say something else…but then you said you wanted to wait until I was better. Well, I've been hoping you'd bring it up." Butters' head darted forward suddenly to kiss Kenny's cheek. "A—and I need to know something. You were with me on the bus that day, I _know_ you were. Kenny, please…are you an angel?"

Kenny lay quietly for a long moment. "All right," he finally said. He raised his head to look Butters in the eyes. "Okay, sure. Believe it or not, I've told you about this before. I told _all_ you guys when we were kids, but none of you remembered. But yeah, I guess we can try this again."

Butters frowned, looking nervous. "Kenny…?"

"Butters, I…" Kenny laid his head against Butters' chest again. "I'm not an angel. I don't know _what_ I am. I…I guess you can say I have this _curse_…"

And Kenny told him everything. About how he died regularly and never stayed dead, and how no one ever remembered. He told him about the afterlife he was not allowed to enter, and how no matter how many times he died it never got any easier. He spoke in a quiet monotone, while Butters silently listened, one hand cupping the back of Kenny's head while the other one stroked his hair.

"That day on the bus?" It suddenly occurred to Kenny that this may have been the only good thing to ever come from his curse. "Yeah…I _was_ there. And you're right: I did tell Cartman to take off his belt and wrap it around your leg. He saved your life, dude. I may have told him what to do…but he's the one that did it. And I knew he was going to die, and I still made him do it; and if Clyde hadn't come along and took over…"

He fell silent for a moment, the only sound Butters' heartbeat in his ear and the scratching of Butters' fingers running across his scalp. "Eric told me after he died that your parents wouldn't be any help; I think his exact words were they'd be fucking useless. I told him I would look after you."

Butters slid his hands down Kenny's back to hug him.

"It sucks, you know?" Kenny's voice was beginning to rise. "_None_ of you guys ever remembered me dying, not one single time. I shot myself in the head _–twice—_ in Cartman's basement when we were kids, you know…when we were superheros? You were there both times, inside that ridiculous jail cell Cartman built. And all I wanted was for you guys to remember _one time_. But the next day? Everyone forgot…and there were no blood stains on the floor. It's like after I die, the universe comes along, changes everybody's memories…and gets rid of the evidence" He snorted. "And you want to know the worst part? If I die and come back again, you won't even remember we had this conversation."

He finally trailed off, feeling like an old clock that had run down. His fingers flattened against Butters' shirt and he closed his eyes and sighed. A moment later, he felt Butters shift underneath him, easing Kenny away so he could prop his head on his hand and look him in the eye. Kenny gazed back at him.

"Then you'll just have to explain it to me all over again." He reached down to take Kenny's hand, lacing their fingers together. "Because I'll believe you the next time, too. _And_ the time after that."

Kenny closed his eyes. "God…really, Butters?"

"Kenny…I remember what happened on the bus that day. You were _there_…I know you were. I imagined all kinds of ways that could have happened…a-and what you told me just now makes more sense than anything I could think up. So yeah, Kenny: I believe you."

"Oh, Jesus." Kenny let go of Butters' hand to pull him close and lay his head back on his chest. "I wanted someone to believe me for so long…thank you."

"I do believe you, Kenny." Butters sounded as though he were drifting off to sleep, and then he whispered, "Y'know? I think…if Stan, 'n' Kyle 'n' Eric are watching us right now, Kenny…well, I think they'd be awful proud of you!"

Kenny nodded, listening to Butters' heartbeat and breathing both slow down as he finally fell asleep. Kenny followed the sounds down into his own restful slumber, and found himself in a dream.

He knew he was dreaming, and he also knew this was more than just a dream.

He was standing before the light; he had never felt such peace and contentment, and wondered if he had just _processed_. Stan and Kyle were there, standing just inside the glowing sphere, surrounded by it and radiating light from within themselves. They were smiling, and Kenny could feel, in the way they were looking back at him, that they _were_ proud of him.

"Hey guys!" He couldn't help but grin at seeing them again. "Uh…did I just die?"

They laughed, and Stan replied: "No, Kenny. You're dreaming, but all this is real too. What you're feeling is just a little taste of what it'll be like."

Even though he didn't want to miss a moment of this, he closed his eyes, reveling in a joy he had never experienced before. What it _will_ be like?

"Guys?" He opened his eyes again. They were still there, just out of reach, surrounded by the beautiful aura.

"Kenny, we…" Stan trailed off, looking to Kyle for guidance. Kyle gave him an exasperated eyeroll.

"Dude, it's _Kenny!_ Just talk to him!"

"Yeah, okay." Kenny laughed. Even in the afterlife, they were still Stan and Kyle. "Kenny…we came here to tell you that we, ah, yeah. Kind of fixed things with the universe for you." He looked to Kyle again, and Kyle nodded for him to continue; Kenny realized Stan was using the words _God_ and _the universe_ interchangeably.

"You _fixed things?_...what do you mean?"

"Well, Cartman had a big part in it too, Kyle replied. "You know he can be pretty persuasive! But yeah. Tell him, Stan."

"Kenny…you've been through enough. You're going to have a normal life now…and then, the next time you die…"

"Which hopefully won't be for another sixty or seventy years!" Kyle interrupted.

"Yeah…the next time you die? That's it, Ken. You get to come home. You can be with us again, dude!"

"Really?" Kenny felt his smile grow even wider; he couldn't help it.

"You won't understand it at first," Kyle said. He seemed to be trying to be the voice of reason here, explaining something important. "But you will one day."

Kenny wanted to ask him what he meant, when what they were saying seemed pretty straightforward. The next time he died, he would finally get to move on. But he felt their time growing short and knew there wasn't time for questions.

"So, this isn't goodbye Kenny," Stan said. "This is just so long for now."

Stan and Kyle were beginning to fade away along with the light, and Kenny knew this wonderful dream that was more than a dream was ending.

"Okay then," Kenny finally replied, just before they were gone. "So long!"

The dream faded and everything went black. He awoke in a dark room, his cheek pressed against soft cotton, Butters' heartbeat loud and slow in his ear. He had never felt as happy as he did at this moment; he had been having a _wonderful_ dream. Stan and Kyle were there, and everything was somehow going to be okay; but when he realized that he couldn't remember anything else from that dream, his elation instantly gave way to a crushing wave of despair, and he found himself once again in the grip of a flashback, inside the bus on that awful day.

**_"_****_Sit down and shut up!"_**

_Kenny had half-stood from his seat as the bus began drifting off the interstate while Ms. Crabtree's head was turned, glaring at her passengers. "Look out!" he had screamed as the guardrail and the abyss beyond loomed in the windshield._

_Ms. Crabtree whirled around and yanked on the steering wheel in a futile attempt to get the bus under control, hard enough to knock Kenny off his feet and nearly roll the bus over. When it crashed through the guardrail, the jolt sent Kenny flying against the handle of the emergency exit near the middle of the bus hard enough to open the door and throw him clear a split second before the bus became airborne._

_He hit the ground with bone jarring force and rolled several times, and even though the wind had been knocked out of him, he was on his feet instantly, screaming and chasing after the bus as it dropped away from him into the ravine below. Kenny fell to the ground and threw his arms over his head when the bus smashed into the bottom of the embankment two seconds later. It was the most horrifying sound he had ever heard; most of the sounds had come from _inside _the bus; nothing could have survived that._

He moaned loudly, clutching Butters' tee shirt and feeling as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. He wanted to hit himself in the forehead because it sometimes helped, but Butters was sleeping…except he wasn't. Kenny felt arms tighten around his back. "Kenny? Oh…oh geez…you had a bad dream, didn't you?"

"No!" Kenny cried and burst into tears. "I had a wonderful dream!" He buried his face against Butters' chest and wept miserably. He hadn't cried once since the accident, not even during the memorial service the town had held a week later for everyone who had died; but he cried now, unleashing two months' worth of grief all at once.

"Oh, Kenny, Jesus." Butters wrapped him into a tight hug. "Okay…okay. Just let it out. I've got you."

Kenny cried, and tried to speak but couldn't form words.

"Ssh, Kenny. Don't try to talk yet. Just…get this out first. Talk to me afterwards, okay?"

Kenny nodded and wept and after several minutes managed to calm himself enough to speak.

"I—I had a wonderful dream, Butters! Stan and Kyle were there…and somehow everything was all right. But then I woke up, and…had another flashback.

"Oh, gosh…you're okay now. You're safe, Kenny." Butters continued stroking his back, and Kenny settled against him. "You know…I'm glad I don't remember anything about that day. I—I don't think I could stand it if I did."

"You're lucky," Kenny replied, wiping his eyes. "It's horrible."

"Aww, Kenny…" Butters pressed his lips against Kenny's ear and whispered, as if he was telling him a secret. "I love you. I'm so glad you lived."

Kenny nodded, burrowing his face into Butters' shoulder, thinking of all he would be missing out on if he'd died along with most of his classmates. He still had a few friends, he had Butters, and he would get to watch Karen grow up. For the first time in two months, he thought everything just might end up being okay.

Butters had just said _I'm so glad you lived _and was patiently waiting for an answer. He took a deep breath and replied: "Me too, Butters. I wouldn't want to miss this for anything."

THE END

_A/N: Writing this has been an interesting experience; it went from a one shot I'd imagined months ago to one of my own personal favorite stories. I might come back and add a couple missing scenes for it someday._

_Thanks to everyone who left a review, and for the faves, follows, and page views. And to the guest who left a review on August 8th: Me too. One of my personal heroes, Wayne Dyer, once said something like (and I'm paraphrasing): "If God is the ocean, and different religions are all rivers leading to him…why not just go straight to the beach?"_

_Thank you for reading!_


	5. Epilogue - Happy Birthday, Leopold

"That comes to $86.50," the cashier said. Kenny pulled a crisp new hundred dollar bill from his wallet and handed it over, looking ruefully at his shopping cart.

"A hundred bucks sure doesn't buy much these days," he remarked as she handed him his change. Still, he'd managed to fill the cart with enough stuff to give Butters a nice party, including a bucket of chicken and several side dishes from the deli, a dozen pointed foil party hats, and an ice cream cake with _Happy Birthday Butters _inscribed in blue icing. He knew he'd have to head straight home before it melted.

"I hear that all the time, sir," she said with a smile as Kenny put his wallet away and started pushing his cart toward the exit.

Being able to buy this many groceries gave Kenny pause. Three months ago, he was lucky if he had five dollars to his name; now (thanks to an insurance settlement for being only one of three people to survive the bus accident that killed most of the rest of the South Park High senior class) he had a six-figure bank account.

He spared a moment to think about the other people who would be at their house for Butters' party. They'd begun to call themselves 'the survivor's club'; besides himself, Butters and Clyde were the only other people who hadn't been killed in the accident, and Bebe and Timmy (along with the three older Goth kids) weren't even on the bus that day. Everyone else in their class had died in the wreck. Butters had invited the Goth kids to his party, but Henrietta's baby was ten days overdue and she wasn't feeling up to doing anything, and Michael and Pete were staying close by her.

Kenny pushed his cart outside and loaded everything into the back seat of the Honda Civic Stephen Stotch had given him before skipping out of town like the cowardly piece of shit that he was. It was a cool crisp autumn day, and only a ten minute drive back to Butters' house. Kenny judged that the cake would be fine until he got home.

He drove out of the parking lot and turned onto the street toward town. As he rounded a curve, he spotted a car up ahead off the side of the road, its hood raised and steam rising in a thick plume from the engine. He recognized the car first: It was the Goth kids' only form of transportation, Pete's old beat up Chevy Impala. He spotted Pete and Michael a moment later, standing anxiously beside the open passenger door, and when Michael put his arms in the air in a _stop!_ gesture, Kenny realized something was wrong. He braked sharply and pulled off the road, parking behind them and shutting off his car. He started to climb out when Michael called over to him, his long moon face paler and more frightened looking than Kenny had ever seen it.

"Can you call for an ambulance?"

_Shit._ "Yeah, sure." He reached back into the car, picked up his phone from the center console and dialed 911. He stood up again and hurried toward Pete's car, the hissing of steam growing louder as he approached. The air was rank with the burned piss smell of an overheated radiator. "What's going on?"

"Henrietta's going to have her baby!" Pete replied, standing four feet from the passenger door of his car, his hands pressed to his face and sounding as frightened as Michael looked. Red hair dye mixed with sweat ran down his neck in thin rivulets. "I mean maybe—"

"No," Michael interrupted. "She's _having_ her baby…right now."

"Nine one one, what is your emergency?" Kenny heard from his phone.

He turned away from the scene in front of him so he could focus on making this call. "Yeah, hi. I need an ambulance. I'm on Fairfax road about two miles north of South Park. There's a lady on the side of the road here, having a baby."

The reply came back at once: "All right sir; I'm dispatching an ambulance to your location. What is your name please?"

Kenny gave the operator all the information she requested, and finally ended the call and turned back toward the car. "They said an ambulance will be here in ten minutes…"

_"__I DON'T HAVE TEN MINUTES!"_ Henrietta shrieked. Pete and Michael both appeared frozen in place with fear, so Kenny walked around them and looked inside the passenger door…and was suddenly looking at more of Henrietta Biggle than he ever thought he'd see, and in a way he never wanted to. In the midst of it was the top third of a baby's head, a surprising shock of black hair on top, its forehead just beginning to emerge.

"Whoa guys, um," Kenny said, taking a step closer. "We need to help her…"

"Have you ever done this before?" Michael asked, still appearing rooted to the ground, unable to move.

"What do you think?" Kenny replied sarcastically, crouching down beside the door while his mind raced.

"Should we boil some water or something?" Pete asked, looking like he was about to be sick all over Kenny's back.

"Don't be a retard," Michael replied, finally coming over to squat down beside Kenny. "What do we need to do?"

"Just…do _something!" _Henrietta wailed, followed by another scream.

"Um, push I guess," Kenny replied. Henrietta glared at him.

"I _am_ pushing!" she raged. "I want this out of me!"

"We should recline the seat," Pete suggested from behind them. That seemed like a good idea, and Kenny found the lever on the side of the car seat and lifted it. The backrest dropped, and Henrietta settled against it, one foot on the floorboard of the car and the other on the ground. Kenny's view of what was happened was better than ever now.

"She's right…she doesn't have ten minutes," Kenny muttered as more of the baby's head emerged. He realized that help wasn't going to arrive in time and that _they_ were going to have to deliver this baby, and judging by the other two Goth kids' deer caught in headlights expressions, he knew he'd be doing most of this himself. He could only think of one thing to do, and reached into his pocket and pulled his knife out and flicked open the blade. "Does one of you have a lighter?"

Michael and Pete both reached into their pants pockets and extended black Bic lighters toward him. He handed Michael (the calmer-looking of the two) his knife and said, "Use that to sterilize this when I tell you to." Michael nodded, and Kenny turned back toward the car and Henrietta, who was moaning and bearing down again.

"You're going to be okay," Kenny said, trying to sound reassuring. She took a deep breath and moaned, her face contorted with effort.

_"__FUCK YOU CTHULHU!" _she screamed, leaning forward to bear down one more time, and just like that it was over. A newborn baby boy practically shot out of her into Kenny's waiting arms; Kenny immediately felt his arms and the front of his shirt growing damp.

Kenny looked down at the newborn infant cradled in his arms. The baby looked back at him and shrieked, his face pinching up and turning bright pink as it wailed again, drawing in great lusty breaths. Kenny knew enough to realize that everything had gone just about perfectly. He heard a siren approaching in the distance.

"I don't usually have this effect on people," Kenny said wryly as the baby continued to cry. "Um…you can go ahead and sterilize that knife now."

Michael nodded and ran the lighter flame up and down both sides of the blade and handed it to Kenny. He looked doubtfully at what he was about to do, and finally pinched the cord between two fingers six inches from the baby's abdomen and sliced through it with the knife. Let the people who know what they're doing fix it later if they need to. He dropped the knife on the ground and watched the baby as it hiccuped a couple times, its tiny fists shivering near his pinched up face.

After a minute, the baby stopped crying and lay quietly in Kenny's arms. Kenny looked at the two Goths standing behind him, hoping one of them would take over for him now, since he'd done the hardest part.

"No way…" Michael said, staring in awe. Pete was looking at the baby as well, the color slowly returning to his face.

"He looks like yours, Mike," Kenny remarked with a smile. He knew that neither Pete nor Michael knew which one of them was the father, and judging from the baby's face (especially his nose) and surprising amount of jet black hair, they wouldn't need a paternity test to figure it out.

"No way…" Michael repeated. He seemed to snap out of his daze. "Um…here." He stood up and took off his black trench coat, looked at it doubtfully and let it fall to the ground. He unbuttoned his white shirt and took it off next, revealing a pale and scrawny chest and stomach. His ribs were sticking out as much as Kenny's used to. He reached forward and, while Kenny supported the baby's shoulders and head, carefully wrapped the shirt around him. Kenny leaned forward and placed the infant on Henrietta's chest.

"Hey, baby," she said, looking down wonderingly. "Welcome to the world."

The ambulance arrived a few moments later, and Kenny stepped back as one paramedic hurried over to them while another rolled a stretcher out of the back door. Pete stayed with Henrietta while Michael followed Kenny back to his car.

Kenny opened his back door first to check on the ice cream cake, and saw that it was well underway to melting. The blue inscription on the cake was blurring into the rest of the icing, and the entire cake was beginning to slump inward on itself. _At least I have a good excuse,_ he thought wryly.

"Ouch," Michael said from behind him. "Today's Butters' birthday, isn't it?"

"Uh huh," Kenny replied, closing the back door again. "I should get this cake home before it completely melts."

Michael appeared lost for words, finally saying quietly, "Sorry about that…but I'm really glad you came along. Tell Butters I said 'happy birthday', okay?" He looked up and forced himself to smile. "And tell him we're sorry we ruined his cake…" He seemed to be trying to think of something else to add.

"His cake in his perfect Disneyland fairy tale world?" Kenny asked, and they shared a laugh together, standing on the side of the highway while two paramedics loaded his newborn son and Henrietta onto the stretcher and began wheeling it toward the ambulance.

"I was thinking something like that," Michael admitted. "I just didn't want to say anything. Especially now that we're parents and have to become conformists like the rest of the world."

Kenny nodded. He wanted to hurry home before the cake completely melted, but he also needed to say something else before he left. "You look like you haven't been eating very much." Now that he bothered to notice, Pete had looked extremely thin as well. It was a look Kenny was very familiar with.

"Yeah," Michael replied, looking down at his boots. "It's been kind of hard, making ends meet."

Kenny nodded, all too familiar with what that was like. "Is that why none of you had a cell phone?"

Michael nodded meekly. "Yeah."

"Well, you know," Kenny said. "Me, Clyde, and Butters all got nice settlement checks for surviving that accident. Hell, you don't even want to know how much money Butters got for all the shit _he's_ been through the last three months." He took a step closer to Michael, hesitated a moment, and put his hand on Michael's shoulder. "Any one of us would have helped you guys, you know…"

Michael nodded again, still looking at the ground. Kenny realized how awkward this conversation probably was for him; he'd never liked offers of charity either during his poverty years.

The paramedics were loading the stretcher into the ambulance. Kenny tipped his head toward them.

"Dude…you need to get going. Do you guys need a ride to the hospital or anything?"

"Oh fuck no," Michael replied. "You've done enough already. We'll ride there in the ambulance; we can call Henrietta's mother from the hospital; she'll come pick us up."

"All right, good." He climbed into his car and just before he slammed his door, he looked up at Michael and said, "Congratulations, dad!"

He finally pulled into their driveway five minutes later and shut the car off. He wondered if he was in shock as he realized he was more worried about the ice cream cake melting than he was about the fact that he was about to walk into their house with the front of his tee shirt covered with blood.

He was three-fourths of the way up the wheelchair ramp he and Clyde had built a month ago when their front door opened and Bebe looked outside. "Geez, Kenny! We were about to send a search party after you—whoa!"

Kenny took the last few steps up the ramp to the front door and handed her the cake. "Here. You should stick this in the freezer for a while; it kind of melted…"

"Ken?" Butters appeared in the door beside Bebe, standing without his crutches or cane. "_Kenny!_" he cried when he spotted the blood. "What happened? A—Are you all right?"

It took Kenny a moment to understand the question. "Oh, yeah…don't worry, dude. This isn't my blood." He took a step inside their house and stopped, realizing that everyone in the room was now staring at him. "Um…there's some more stuff in the back seat of my car that someone could bring in…?"

Clyde rose from the couch. "I'm on it," he said, heading toward the front door. Timmy gunned his motorized wheelchair and followed him outside.

"Kenny?" Butters asked urgently. "You're okay?" At Kenny's nod, he took hold of Kenny's arm and led him into the bathroom.

"Um, fellas?" Butters called just before he closed the door. "We'll be back, okay?"

Once they were locked together in the bathroom, Butters turned to him anxiously. "Kenny…? Get those clothes off and get in the shower. What happened?"

Kenny began to strip, and the thought of being naked in Butters' presence under these circumstances had never felt less sexy. "Butters, I…" He dropped his shirt on the floor. "I…just delivered a baby."

Butters boggled at him. "What…Kenny? You mean Henrietta's?"

"Uh huh." Kenny lowered his pants and underwear together, stepping out of them toward the bathtub. Butters had the shower on now, and was adjusting the faucet. "How about I tell you and the rest of the guys the story at the same time, okay?"

Butters nodded, and Kenny stepped into the bathtub, looking down at himself as the water from the showerhead ran down his body, traces of red mixed in.

"Here, Ken," Butters said, handing him their bottle of Axe and watching as Kenny started washing his belly. "Get yourself cleaned up…I'll go get you some clothes, okay?"

Kenny looked up from where he was lathering himself. His hands were shaking; what had happened earlier was starting to sink in. "Okay, dude." Butters turned and walked out of the room; Kenny heard him say something to the others as the door closed, and he turned his attention to washing his legs and stomach. He lathered and rinsed himself three times before Butters returned a couple minutes later carrying a clean tee shirt and jeans.

Kenny shut the faucet off and Butters handed him a towel. He dried himself with trembling hands while Butters watched him anxiously.

"Kenny? Y-you're looking kind of pale."

He nodded, stepping out of the shower and hanging the towel over the curtain rod. "Yeah…that was pretty intense. I think it's just starting to really hit me. I mean…what if I'd dropped the baby, or something had gone wrong?" He shuddered.

"But it didn't," Butters replied. "Everything turned out fine." He had been about to hand Kenny a pair of underwear, and set them back on the pile of clothes he'd brought him beside the sink instead. He held out his arms, and Kenny stepped gratefully into his embrace. "You're okay now, Ken. It sounds like you were a hero today!"

"I didn't really even _do_ that much," Kenny replied, closing his eyes and resting his face against Butter's shoulder. "Henrietta did all the work. I just caught the baby…and cut the cord afterward."

"You did plenty, Ken," Butters told him, and they held each other quietly for a few minutes until Kenny had stopped trembling. Butters leaned back to give him a small smile, while his right hand moved from Kenny's back to the front of his upper thigh. "Do you, ah…want me to do anything to relieve some tension?"

Kenny grinned. "God yes…but later, okay? I, um…" He swallowed. "Yeah, later." His eyes said it all: He wanted 'to relieve some tension' all right, but he wanted to do it tonight during a long session of lovemaking, not with a quickie in the bathroom with their friends in the next room.

Butters nodded. "Got it." His expression made it clear they were in perfect understanding of each other. He turned away and started straightening the bottles of shampoo and body wash in the shower, giving Kenny privacy to get dressed. Once he'd pulled his tee shirt over his head and was finger-combing his hair in the foggy mirror, Butters joined him again and took his hand.

"You ready?"

Kenny hugged him. "I love you, Butters."

"Aw, Ken." Butters seemed taken aback. "I love you too! You…you're my whole world now."

"You too," he whispered. "And yeah…I'm ready."

Butters opened the bathroom door and they rejoined their friends. Clyde and Bebe had busied themselves setting out plates with chicken and side dishes around the living room table. They'd each put on one of the party hats Kenny had bought. Timmy had put on the other ten, each one pointing a different direction from his head, giving him an odd (and hilarious) pineapple appearance. They looked up when Kenny and Butters rejoined them.

"Kenny…?" Clyde asked. "What happened to you today?"

Kenny reached for Butters' hand. "Guys…do I ever have a story to tell you."

0-0

Which is how Butters ended up celebrating his birthday sitting around his living room table with the other members of the survivor's club, eating fried chicken and three different side dishes, followed by half-melted ice cream cake they shared from a plate in the middle of the table. By the time the cake was half-eaten, they began to settle back in their seats and began sharing the inevitable stories about the friends they'd lost.

After a few minutes, Butters squeezed Kenny's hand and leaned close to whisper, "Gonna go pee." He carefully stood and walked off, taking his cane with him this time. Butters was barely limping now, but Kenny knew that by bedtime his legs would be hurting again and he'd probably be using his crutches.

"Craig tried to convince Tweek that his hand was a poptart and that he should eat it," Clyde was saying, almost laughing too hard to talk. "But Tweek wasn't having it. I think that's the only time those two ever did acid together—"

There was a buzzing sound from the living room table. Kenny recognized it a moment later as Butters' cell phone.

"Um…" he said, looking toward the bathroom and not sure if he should answer it. He finally picked it up…and scowled once he read the display:

_Incoming text from: S. Stotch - Happy birthday son! Mom and I are sorry we can't be there, but mom is doing well, and we hope you're having a great day!_

"Oh…crap," Kenny muttered, staring down at the phone. Clyde and Bebe were both reading the screen over his shoulder.

"Maybe you should just delete that?" Bebe said a moment later.

Kenny debated the merits of her suggestion. "Nah." He saved the message and put Butters' phone back down on the table. "I'll show it to him later."

Butters emerged from the bathroom, and as he was walking back into the living room there was a knock on the front door. Kenny stood up immediately to answer it, but Butters was closer and opened the door first. He took one look outside and burst out laughing.

"Oh…hey, fellas!" Butters said a moment later, sounding delighted. Kenny joined a moment later, looked outside, and started laughing as well. Michael and Pete were standing at the top of the ramp, wearing clothes that look like they'd come from Banana Republic.

"Hey, Butters," Pete said. He was clutching a grocery bag against his yellow on blue checkered shirt; the necks of four wine bottles were sticking out of the top. He offered it to Butters, and Kenny took it from him. "We brought you guys some wine. Happy birthday."

"Thanks! Come on in." They stepped inside and Pete closed the door behind him.

"You guys want some half-melted ice cream cake?" Bebe asked, once they were all seated in the living room again.

"How about a couple pieces of chicken too?" Kenny asked, remembering his earlier encounter with them.

"Sure," Michael replied. They each took a piece from the bucket on the table and proceeded to devour them as if they hadn't eaten in days.

"Sorry about your cake, Butters," Michael said, setting the scraps from his drumstick on another plate where everyone else had piled their chicken bones. Unlike the others pieces, he had picked his completely clean.

"Oh, that's all right," Butters replied. "It was still good!"

"How's Henrietta and the baby?" Bebe asked.

"They're both doing great," Michael said. "Henrietta's mom is there now; she let us use her minivan to bring back some stuff from our house. The doctors said we should be able to take them both home tomorrow."

"His, um…" Kenny faltered. "Belly button? That's going to be okay?"

"The doctor said you did fine, Kenny," Michael replied. "He said the…stump will just fall off in a few days."

"We're glad you came along when you did," Pete said. He took the grocery bag back from Kenny and removed four bottles of Boone's Farm Wine and set them on the table. "Happy birthday…and, ah, about that." He and Michael shared a look. "We talked about it, and since we sort of ruined your cake, we're going to name our son Leopold."

"You're naming him after me?" Butters asked, grinning.

"Yeah," Michael replied. "It seems like a good idea. We thought about naming him after one of us…but we don't want to lose all of our Goth heritage, and we got to thinking about our son's name. Leopold sounds more Goth than Pete or Michael does."

"Or 'Firkle'," Clyde remarked, and everyone in the room laughed.

"So anyway, yeah," Michael continued. "Now there's two people in this town named Leopold who were born on nine eleven."

"Well, thanks fellas." Butters seemed humbled by their gesture. There was a long silence.

"Have some more chicken," Clyde finally said. "There's plenty."

Once they'd eaten the rest of the chicken (Kenny had one more piece so they wouldn't feel quite as self conscious), they sat back in their chairs.

"How are you doing, Butters?" Michael asked, eyeing Butters' cane, a plain aluminum pole with a curved white plastic handle. "You seem to be walking okay."

Butters nodded. "I usually use a cane to get around. Some days when it's bad I let Kenny push me around in the wheelchair."

"Or when you're feeling extra lazy," Kenny added. Butters elbowed him.

"We'd better get back to the hospital," Michael said a few minutes later, after they'd finished what was left of the cake. "Happy birthday, Butters." He looked pointedly at Kenny. "Hey…I have something for you outside…?"

Kenny nodded and stood up, looking down at Butters. "I'll be right back." He leaned down to plant a kiss on Butters' forehead. "Okay, birthday boy?"

Kenny followed them outside, and Michael opened the passenger door of the minivan and reached inside. He pulled out his cane, glistening black lacquer reflecting the brilliant afternoon sunlight. Kenny's eyes widened at the ornately carved handle; small red gems glittered in the eye sockets of the skulls engraved in it.

"Here," Michael said, handing the cane to Kenny. "I never really needed this anyway, and I guess Butters could use it more than me. So give this to him, and tell him I said 'happy birthday'."

Kenny took the cane. "Thanks, man…from both of us."

"Um…and Kenny?" Michael looked down, shuffling his feet awkwardly. "We thought we might take you up on what you said earlier…?"

"We're behind on our rent," Pete added. "We have until the 20th to get it caught up, or we're gonna get kicked out."

Kenny nodded. "Sure, guys. Little Leopold deserves only the best." He pulled out his wallet and took out all the cash he had, two hundreds and a twenty. "Take this for now." He handed the money to Michael. "I'll talk to Butters tonight and we'll see what else we can do. Come over some time tomorrow and we'll talk, okay?"

"Thanks, Kenny." Both of them looked extremely humble. "We hate having to ask. We're both working full time, but we just can't seem to ever get caught up…"

"Dudes, don't say another word. I've been there too; I know what it's like. We're glad to help…and we won't say anything to Clyde or Bebe either; this'll just be between us."

Michael nodded. "Thanks…we'd better go."

"Okay…well, congratulations again; and thanks for the cane."

Kenny watched them drive off and went back up the ramp and into the house. The others had cleaned the living room, and Bebe and Clyde were putting on their coats, getting ready to leave. Kenny leaned the cane against the wall.

"We're going to get going too," Clyde said as they were standing by the front door a minute later. Timmy was already driving his chair down the ramp toward Clyde's truck. He tipped Kenny a wink. "You two probably want to do some private celebrating."

Kenny laughed, putting an arm carefully over Butters' shoulder; Butters was eyeing the cane against the wall while leaning on his cheap hospital-issue one.

"You know," Bebe said, smiling at Butters. "Something tells me that because today's your birthday, Kenny's going to give you whatever you want later. But you have to whisper it in his ear before we go first."

"Oh, geez…" Butters said, more sarcastically than nervously. "Um…"

Clyde laughed. "Ooh…this could get interesting."

Kenny scoffed. "Yeah…or downright kinky!" Butters laughed and his eyes brightened as if he'd just thought of something.

"So," he asked, looking at Bebe. "Anything I wish for…?" Kenny rolled his eyes.

"Anything at all, sweetheart."

Butters turned back to Kenny. "Okay…then my wish for my birthday is that Kenny…" he put his arms around Kenny's shoulders and leaned in to whisper. Kenny's mind was racing as he wondered what Butters was going to say. It ended up being the last thing he expected: "I don't know Kenny. Just pretend I'm whisperin' somethin' really perverted in your ear I guess."

Kenny burst out laughing at that, pulling away so he could double over. He caught Clyde's eye as he started to laugh too, and realized that Clyde had no idea what the joke even was. Butters was looking expectantly at Kenny.

"Young man!" Kenny managed to gasp. "I don't believe I know you!"

"Good night, you guys," Bebe said chuckling, and they stepped outside. "Timmy!" Timmy called from beside Clyde's truck.

Once they were back in the house, Kenny handed Butters the cane Michael had given him. "Here, dude. Michael said to tell you happy birthday, and that he didn't need this anymore, since they're jumping ship to become conformists."

"Aww…this is a real nice cane. I can't wait to see their baby! You said it looks kind of like Michael?"

Kenny put his arms around him and hugged him. "Not _kind of; _he looks exactly like him. Poor kid even has his nose."

Butters laughed, pressing a kiss against the side of Kenny's neck. "You were a real hero today. Well, you're a real hero every day, but still."

"I don't know about that." He took a step back to look Butters in the eye. "Hey…I have a couple things I need to talk to you about. Nothing bad or anything." He was thinking about the help he'd offered Pete and Michael, as well as the message on Butters' phone. "Let's go to bed; we'll talk, um, afterwards."

Butters nodded agreeably, feeling himself growing hard at the word 'afterwards'. "Okay, Kenny." He leaned in to kiss him. "I love you."

Kenny pressed his lips back against Butters'. "I love you too. Happy Birthday, Leopold."

THE END


End file.
